


Break These Chains

by NoirSongbird



Series: Caught in Your Web [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Daddy Kink, F/M, Light D/s, Noire Widowmaker, Team Dad 76, Walking In On Someone, Widowmaker Redemption, lap dance, striptease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirSongbird/pseuds/NoirSongbird
Summary: A year after they bonded as soulmates, Soldier: 76 is fairly secure in his relationship with Widowmaker - except that she hasn't called in six weeks, and he's starting to worry. However, when that call finally comes, on the night of their anniversary, it turns out she has a gift far better than any he could have thought to ask for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is another commissioned piece for the same lovely person who asked for "Black Lace on Sweat"! Another piece that was an absolute delight to do, truly~

Jack Morrison sat tucked away in his quarters at the refurbished Watchpoint: Gibraltar - the same ones he’d once occupied as Strike-Commander of Overwatch. A status that, he supposed, was sort of reinstated again. Not that his thoughts were directed towards anything in remote relation to his position. Far from it. Soldier: 76 sat at his desk, body stiff and eyes unfocused down towards the fake wood surface, wondering where his soulmate was.

It had been a very long year since that night in Miami, when Jack found himself tangled up in some very  _ specific  _ Talon business. It had been a hell of a thing, to discover Widowmaker was his soulmate.  _ Widowmaker. _ The most dangerous woman alive, capable of killing most anyone who crossed her path without remorse or hesitation. He'd seen her work before, or rather, the remnants. Saw what she was fully capable of. Knew Overwatch agents she'd taken out under order from Talon. Yet even with this knowledge at the front of his mind...

She was exactly the kind of woman Jack liked. Gorgeous and clever and deadly, everything he wanted all wrapped in one perfect vicious package. She seemed to like him well enough too - enough that she kept coming back, at least, just for a day or two a month when both of them were between work. Rendezvous in hotels across the US, and then Europe. They set the dates through private commlinks, in the same visors they’d linked together in the strip club during the firefight with Los Muertos. 

Jack's fingers gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles slowly turning white as he murmured a few choice words. He’d begged her, over and over again, to leave Talon and to join him. He hated thinking of her going back to them, hated thinking of what might happen to her if they were found out.  _ If _ . He refused to consider their relationship could ever become so finite as to hold a  _ when _ in their future. She said no every time he asked or neared the subject, said she needed more time to think about it, and  _ that _ was the worst part. He wondered how much of that was genuinely  _ her  _ being afraid to run away from the life she had, and how much of that was the Talon conditioning that still had a hold on her. It was slipping more and more the longer they were together, but that didn’t mean it was gone, not by any stretch.

If he was being honest with himself - _if_ , not _when,_ because he was not fond of this particular brand of honesty - he knew the likelihood that Talon's conditioning would likely never fully dissipate. There were, to put it bluntly, parts of Amélie Lacroix that were gone forever. It didn't mean Talon would have indefinite _control_ over Widowmaker, however.

That was the dangerous land they were beginning to enter, the facts that set him on edge each time he was left hanging in the wind waiting to hear updates from her. He doubted Talon would be pleased with its manufactured killer slipping out to meet with her soulmate, especially when he was someone they very much would like her to kill. For a moment, he attempted to amuse himself by weighing which might appeal to Talon more: killing Jack Morrison, or taking out Soldier: 76 the continuous thorn in their side. The amusement didn't last long as the awareness of  _ why _ he was now in his old quarters returned to the forefront of his mind. He was sure he’d moved up on their hit lists after the Overwatch recall, which had taken him to Gibraltar and left him settled there. Again.

Overwatch recall. Now  _ that _ made the corner of his mouth twitch up a little, if only for a moment. It was a train of thought away from his current primary concerns, and he welcomed the moment to dwell on something different. He’d never thought he’d see the day, and he certainly hadn’t thought he’d  _ respond  _ to a recall. He’d taken a long time to consider, but in the end...there was no question, really. He was Jack Morrison. He’d been with Overwatch from the beginning, he’d be with it until he dropped or until the organization shut down because it was really, truly no longer needed, whichever came first. 

(He was pretty damn sure it would be the former. The world would always need heroes, whether it wanted to admit it did or not.)

Winston had looked relieved when he’d shown up and taken off his mask, and the scientist had practically thrown command into his lap. It was wildly different, commanding a small vigilante strike team rather than a huge multinational organization. Still, he was finding that much as he’d come to enjoy solo vigilante work over being a political football, he  _ liked _ leading a small team - liked being part of something, in  _ charge  _ of something bigger than him, rather than being a lone wolf stalking through the night. He definitely liked the smaller team much more than he’d liked dealing with all the bullshit that came with running old Overwatch, there was no question about that. It was a thousand times easier to manage twenty-odd people than it was to manage several hundred. He'd take any boon he could take out of the situation, and had to admit it opened up his own schedule more than he'd ever have anticipated.

There were familiar faces, which only added to the  _ good shit _ list - Ana, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn were present, all three of whom, like him, would probably lay down their weapons when their bodies were laid six feet under the ground. Lena, McCree, Winston of course, Angela, and Genji were also among the ranks, who had all been with the previous incarnation of Overwatch. 

And then there were the new kids. “Kids,” truly, it felt like - none as young as McCree or Angela had been when they were recruited, but close. Hell, Hana was only nineteen, experienced soldier or not, and Zenyatta, for all he presented himself as aged and wise, was  _ twenty,  _ even if he’d seen more of the world than any twenty-year-old, human or Omnic, deserved to _.  _ Lúcio was only twenty-five, and so was Jamison, as wild and crazy as he was. Satya was older than any of them, but the poor girl had been under Vishkar’s thumb for so long, she  _ felt  _ younger, for all that she acted above it all. Fareeha, at least, was new, and fairly young, but she was Ana’s girl, there was no need for him to worry about her.

Of the new recruits, at least Hanzo and Mako were older. They sort of felt like actual adults. But damn, he was getting old, and sometimes he felt it a little sharper, with all these fresh-faced kids running around.

It wasn’t that Jack  _ wanted  _ to parent all these damn kids, it was that it sort of just seemed to be what was happening. He caught himself doing it without even thinking - gruffly reminding them all to eat more than snacks or quick rations, checking up on all of them during and between missions. 

He’d even agreed to referee a video game tournament - the latest edition of  _ Mortal Kombat,  _ which, he was pretty sure, was a franchise that would be going long after all of them were dead. How they could stand to play fighting games when all they saw was violence, he would never know, but then again, there was something viscerally different about the ridiculous, over the top gore of  _ Mortal Kombat  _ and the all-too-real risks they faced every day. Lena, Genji, Lúcio, and Hana had been obvious entrants, and Fareeha and Angela had surprised everyone by tossing themselves in, but the two great surprises of the evening had been Zenyatta and, of all people,  _ Hanzo,  _ who demonstrated an absolutely alarming amount of skill at the game. He’d had to get between affectionate accusations of cheating with cybernetic enhancements, help keep the snack bowls full, and mostly he had just deeply enjoyed being the center of a team that acted like a family.

Generally, he spent a lot of time feeling less like “Commander Morrison” and more like “Dad.”

He’d pretty much figured it was over when Hana had presented him, grinning broadly, with an actual, literal  _ World’s Best Dad  _ mug, and McCree had nearly laughed himself unconscious the first time he saw 76 drinking out of it. He’d considered, briefly, never using the thing again, but Hana had lit up  _ and  _ smacked McCree on the arm for laughing when she’d realized he was actually drinking out of it, and he just couldn’t disappoint her.

Sometimes, he wondered what those kids would think of him if they knew the whole truth - if they knew that he’d been meeting in secret, for months, with Talon’s top assassin. Winston and Angela were aware. There was no way he’d keep it a secret from them, not when they were effectively his co-commanders in this little adventure. He'd considered it for a time, to keep them away from the situation if it blew up, but had finally decided it was a greater risk to all if he didn't let someone in on the situation. Fortunately they’d taken it in remarkable stride, covering for him when he slipped off-base to meet her at a hotel in Gibraltar. 

It wasn’t easy, but then, when nothing else in his life ever had been, why would this be any different? He loved her, that was what mattered in the end. He loved her even if he knew she was dangerous, even if he could see a thousand ways it could go horribly wrong for both of them. Someday he would talk her around. He would bring her back to Overwatch, and she would be the partner he’d always hoped for. Perhaps it was an idealistic view of the future, but the only real way to deal with the world when life gave you jackshit? Fight. Fight it with every fiber and every ounce of who you are. When life is never easy, the only solution is to  _ fight _ to grab onto and hold  _ fast _ to those good moments.

Something brought his soulmate into his life. It would be over his dead body that he'd let Talon, or anyone else for that matter, take her away.

A cracking sound finally brought him out of his head. Looking down at his fingers, he worked to release the digits from the tiny craters they were forming in the side of his desk. Sighing, he lifted his hands carefully - noting the pins and needles sensation in one - to rub at his face. When his forearms hit the desk, they formed a loose barrier around the object that had set him to the on and off tangent trains of thought. Carefully, he poked his fingers at the crinkling paper, slowly turning the package sitting oh so innocently on his desk over and taking yet another examination of the wrapping. It had been, by now, a year exactly, to the day - which meant it was something like an anniversary, which wasn’t something 76 had much experience with, but he’d gone out of his way to try to do something for this one.

Widowmaker usually kept her hair in a simple ponytail, but he was fairly certain she wouldn’t wear it as impractically long as she did if she wasn’t proud of it. That was a valid observation, right? He told himself again and again it was. It was completely valid, and there was no reason for him to doubt himself on this plan of action. When he’d seen the delicate decorative rose hair comb in the box in a jewelry store in Gibraltar, he’d known he wanted it for her. It was handmade, something unique - and, he hoped, small enough and subtle enough that she’d be able to wear it without it drawing too much attention. 

_ If  _ he ever saw her again to give it to her. No, wait. No, this was a  _ when _ situation, perhaps the only one he was going to accept, because this was the  _ good  _ kind of  _ when _ .  _ When _ he saw her again.

He wasn’t given to paranoia - not really, no more than he considered realistic for his situation - but he was getting anxious at this point. It had been two month since he'd seen her last. Two months of radio silence as well - his comms had gone unanswered for nearly that long, at least. He paused and did a little math after he confirmed a note with the clock. Six weeks, two days, twelve hours since he'd last heard from her. He knew, exactly, because it was that damn important to him. He could count out the minutes and probably the seconds if he allowed himself that level of focus on the empty, hollow sensation that burned in his chest.

There were a thousand reasons she might have stopped contacting him. She might have finally tired of the game on her own, and decided the risks were too great. She might have gotten bored of  _ him,  _ whatever their mystical connection, which was a heartbreaking thought. He hated even letting the thoughts enter his mind, but he was willing to humor them as more desirable alternatives to what was, without question, the absolute worse-case scenario.

It played out in his head when he wasn't careful. It pursued him in his sleep and waking hours equally if he wasn't on top of keeping himself focused -  _ distracted _ \- by other matters. Learning by some means that Talon had discovered them - perhaps they had found their private line, or something else - was the absolute worst ending he could possibly imagine for their story. There were a thousand possibilities for what might have gone wrong if it was Talon involved, and he really, really didn’t like thinking about that.

He dropped the box on the desk and pushed his chair away, resting his forehead in his hands. He just wanted to hear her voice again, or get a message, or anything to let him know she was still out there. He began to humor the idea, the possibilities, of ways he might be able to track her down. Rumors of Widowmaker and her unfortunate targets could be tracked, and he could investigate the sites where they'd fallen, look for clues about where she'd gone next based on following the trajectory of the shot back to where she'd taken it. It'd be a long haul, but not impossible. More reliant on other sources for his information than he'd like, but desperate times did often call for desperate measures -

A blip of bright red seeped through his fingers to his eyes that, unfocused and blurry, bounced around as he debated his choices. Bright enough for him to be dragged back to the present, and lower his hands. His visor, lying discarded on his desk, lit up like a neon arrow, and he jerked up, sliding in and putting it in place.

A call.

A call on his private line to Widowmaker, as if thinking about her - or the date, or just his general desperation - had summoned her. Perhaps some force out there had deemed his idea of slamming around informants until he tracked her down a bit excessive, and decided to just give him this one.

“Where have you been?” He snapped out as soon as the call connected. The words came out rapid fire. “It’s been six weeks, and if we have an anniversary, this is it - what the  _ hell _ is going on?” Worry made him short with her, the way it often made him short with his teammates.

The sound of a brief, light, breathless little laugh was his only response at first from the other end of the line, and for the life of him, Jack was pretty sure he'd never heard anything so beautiful. 

“It has been a long several weeks for me as well, Soldat,” she said, and there was something different in her voice that he couldn’t quite place. “I have missed you.” 

It was amazing, how soothing just hearing her voice was. The strain and tension in his body began to ease just by the simple fact she was there on the line with him. He leaned back into his seat, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in six weeks. It was a relief to know she was okay, and that as far as he could tell Talon’s grip was no tighter than it had been when he'd last seen her.

“I missed you too,” he confessed on a breath, as if it wasn’t wholly obvious anyway. 

He could almost  _ see _ her smile when he closed his eyes. “Well, as you pointed out, it is our...anniversary.” She seemed to be trying out the word, with a slightly amused lilt to her tone. Her end of the comm was oddly free of background noise - he was used to hearing the little sounds of wherever she was; traffic, birds, even sometimes the click of her heels. She must have been standing still, somewhere indoors, if he couldn’t hear any of that. “And I come bearing what I suspect you will consider  _ very  _ good news,  _ mon Soldat.” _

His pulse skipped a beat. It was dangerous to get ahead of himself, even if it was just in his own head. He didn’t want to let himself get too hopeful, and yet he couldn’t help it.

“And what’s that?” He asked. He was aware of how much effort it took to keep his voice steady as he said those three basic words. It took conscious effort to also not add more dents to the desk as he waited. Holding his breath.  _ When _ , not  _ if _ .

“I have left Talon.” For a moment, 76 swore his heart stopped. It was exactly what he had been hoping for since the first night they’d ended up tangled in each other’s arms, what he’d been begging her to do for almost a year. “It...was a bit complex, and that is why I have been out of contact - I did not wish to draw additional attention to myself, not in the midst of this. But I am free, finally.” 

“Where are you?” He was already halfway out of his chair, slinging on his jacket and scooping up his sidearm just in case - there was, he supposed, the  _ tiny _ chance that this was some kind of ambush, but he doubted that. The box went into his jacket pocket, and he smiled faintly. It was a good thing he had picked it up. “I’ll come to you.”

"I will send you coordinates,” Widowmaker said. “And I will see you soon,  _ mon amour.” _

He paused mid-step, a white brow raised over his visor. That was new.

The coordinates appeared on his visor seconds later, and he frowned briefly. They were close -- within the Gibraltar compound, he suspected, which was both interesting and a little worrying if he considered the general state of their security. Then again, she  _ was  _ the best. Her ability to get past Overwatch security did not, he suspected, reflect anything so much as it reflected that one, simple fact. Still, he did make a mental note to himself to...have a discussion with Winston and Athena, about proper security on the edges of the base.

He followed the marker his visor displayed on the Watchpoint: Gibraltar map down into the bowels of the base, to a living area that hadn’t been used since this was a fully-functioning base housing hundreds of Overwatch agents. They hadn’t needed any of the auxiliary housing, not when the main barracks worked perfectly fine for the number of people there. 

It was surprisingly clean, for being so disused - he wondered if Winston had dusted in a fit of optimism about the numbers the Recall would draw. Or perhaps Lena, that seemed like something she’d do. 

As he moved through the old barracks, he turned over the possible implications of having Talon’s perfect assassin on the Overwatch team. First, he’d have to get the others on board - which he imagined might be complicated. Ana wouldn’t be happy. About as happy, he imagined, as she'd be to learn he’d been keeping his assignations with Widowmaker a secret from her. He supposed some of the agents, new and old, would be reluctant to trust her, but he had the confidence he would bring them around in time. He would convince them that they needed her; that she was, unquestioningly, an asset to Overwatch. God only knew what she knew about Talon’s plans and operations - she might well be a goldmine of information they could use to finally turn the tide.

He pushed open the door to the room his visor was indicating, and there she was, sitting on the bed with one leg crossed over the other and an amused grin on her face. He stopped dead in his tracks, halfway through the doorway and one hundred percent of his focus entirely on the vision before him.

She was not wearing her usual outfit. He was used to the bodysuit with the plunging neckline (if it could really be called a neckline, when it went down nearly to her navel) and the way it clung to every inch of her. He’d even learned to fight while staring at it, sort of. Mostly he’d learned how to run distraction to make sure she didn’t shoot at his team, when they crossed paths in the field. This outfit, despite covering more, was somehow a thousand times more sensual. 

Perhaps because it was entirely  _ her.  _

The top was a black leather jacket with a high collar, one long sleeve and one short. Over it sat a red underbust corset that, if he had to take a guess, he suspected was also leather, or maybe vinyl. She wore a modified version of the gauntlet that held her grappling hook and venom mines, with holsters for extra mines up her arm. Straps for her shoulder pauldrons, black leather with silver edging, ran across her chest. His eyes drew slowly downward, taking in the tight black pants, the strappy ammo belt adorned with her stylized  _ W,  _ the thigh holster for a pistol. The  _ boots,  _ armored and spiked, with delicate-looking spike heels he knew were no obstacle to her running across rooftops or sticking landings with her grappling hook. Even the hair was new - still in its usual ponytail, but now done in thick twists, held in place with both decorative metallic bands and several red-and-black rings; the ends were decorated with metallic pieces that looked like the spines on her venom mines.

She’d replaced her visor, as well - the new piece was less rounded, with sharper edges that, he felt, fit the new, more dangerous image she was projecting. Her gun, he was fairly certain, was the same, but redone in black and red to match her new uniform.

His pants, fairly comfortable lounging jeans, were suddenly far, far too tight. God, he couldn’t wait to get his hands all over her - his memory didn’t do justice to her perfect curves, or to the elegant hourglass figure that her new outfit accentuated even better than the old one. Her defection from Talon, getting her into Overwatch, convincing the team she would be safe to have around, all of that stopped mattering as he took her in. He’d figure everything else out later. Right then, he just wanted her in his arms.

“Hello,  _ Soldat, _ ” she said, dragging the nickname out into a sensuous tease, and he felt a pleasant curl of electricity crawl up his spine. In lieu of another greeting, he pulled off his visor, tossing it on the desk that was among the only furniture besides the bed still left in the room with little care for how gentle a landing it had - it could take a harder beating than that, really - and strode up to her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her hard. She groaned, arms slinging around his shoulders and body moulding perfectly against his. He held her lips for a long moment before he let her go, but even when they broke to breathe he stayed pressed against her.

“This is really happening, then? You’re finally done with Talon?” He asked, a little breathlessly. It almost felt too good to be true - Widowmaker, in a new somehow  _ sexier  _ package, ready to finally be entirely his. 

“I am,” she said, and she slipped out of his arms - he mourned the loss of her body against his as soon as it was gone - and reached up to remove her new infrared visor. She offered it to him, and he took it, turning it over in his hands. It was a marvel of engineering, really, and if they were going to have her on their side, he’d have to talk to Winston about integrating it, somehow, into  _ everyone’s  _ tech, the way he’d linked it with his visor. “Consider that my peace offering to Overwatch. I am far from useless without it, but it  _ is  _ an important part of my kit, and I do not part with it lightly.”

“I’ll make sure it gets back to you in one piece,” 76 promised, though he knew he sounded a little less than completely together, moving to set it on the table next to his visor. She had him off-balance, and it was like seeing her for the first time all over again.

Probably because in a lot of ways, he was. This was a whole new Widowmaker - one that would be making her own choices. 

And the first thing she’d done was choose  _ him. _

“How did you do it?” He asked, a little reverently. He knew it couldn’t have been easy; Talon had done so much to hold her, he doubted they would give her up readily.

“It was a very long process,” she admitted. “My...conditioning began to break down the first night we met, when we bonded. The more we were together, the more cracks there were. I had to keep them under wraps, so that Talon did not begin to suspect - but they have grown complacent, I think, in my loyalty.” She hummed briefly. “The last six weeks were my final preparations. I enlisted the aid of an...independent contractor, a hacker, to help me cover my tracks while I purchased everything I would need.” She paused, briefly. “I do not think I could have done it, if I did not know you were waiting, but I wanted it to be on this day.”

He stepped forward and pulled her into a brief embrace, which she leaned into. The movement drew his attention back to the extra weight in his jacket pocket, reminding him that he had something for her, and he pulled out the velvet box wrapped in dark paper. 

“I mentioned it was our anniversary,” he said, a little gruffly, stepping away for a moment to offer it to her. “I got you something, though I think ‘I’m joining Overwatch’ trumps about everything I could offer. _ ” _

“You almost sound sentimental,” Widowmaker teased, gently taking the box and unwrapping it with care. She made a little surprised noise to see the elegant thing inside, the sort of case that only came from upscale jewelers, and followed it with a little bright, delighted sound when she opened it and lifted out the delicate rose comb. “Oh,  _ Jack.” _

He was almost never  _ Jack  _ to her, and fuck if that wasn’t better than everything else he’d heard. The smile on her face wasn't one of sexual deviance or adrenaline surge of a fight. It was… not  _ genuine _ , that alone wasn't the word. It was the joy of a woman who - it dawned on him then in a sharp moment of clarity - did not receive gifts for frivolous use or as shows of affection. While she carefully worked it into her hair, resting in front of the first ring that held her ponytail in place, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, long and slow and sensuous. He teased his tongue across the seam of her lips, and she sighed and parted them for him, letting him taste her for a long, beautiful moment. When they broke apart, the comb was settled in her hair, decorative rose catching the dim light, and there was a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Ah, but that is not my gift to  _ you, mon chéri. _ ” She said. “Sit on the bed, make yourself comfortable;  _ tu me manques  _ and I would like to make tonight very good for both of us. It has been far too long.” He agreed, absolutely. 76 shed his jacket, tossing it onto the desk with both their visors, and sat down, which made the bed, with its bare mattress and little else, give a faint creaking noise, leaning back a little to alleviate some of the pressure in his groin as he slid off his shoes and socks. He wanted to have her, to throw her down on the bed and  _ take _ , but he was sure whatever she had in store would be well worth him having to put off fucking her senseless.

She winked, an amused grin on her face.

“Consider this my little nod to where we first met.”

She took a few steps into the center of the room, swaying her hips the whole way, and he swallowed, throat suddenly feeling very dry. She began by removing her combat equipment, and he hadn’t realized it was possible to sensually pull off a gauntlet until he watched her undo it finger by finger, honey eyes locked on his the entire time. The extra mine venom went next, added to the pile of items on the desk with care. The pauldrons were removed and fell to the ground with a soft accompanying  _ thunk,  _ and the ammo belts and thigh holster joined them.

Even without any additional skin revealed at all, 76 was already squirming faintly. She was just so fucking  _ perfect,  _ every inch of her was exactly what he wanted, and the knowledge that this really  _ was _ all for him was just making all of it a thousand times better.

The boots were removed slowly, almost teasingly, and he had to force back a tiny desperate noise just from seeing her leather-clad calves, and then her hands slowly traced up her body, following the curve of her hips and her waist and her sides, and he followed those same lines with his eyes as her hands came to rest at her chest, cupping and squeezing her breasts through the jacket.

“Enjoying the show so far?” She teased, and he groaned softly.

“Of course I am,”  he said, and she laughed, slowly unzipping the corset and letting it hit the ground. Her hands moved up to run through her hair, giving him an unobstructed view of the jacket and pants that looked practically poured onto her frame. She moved into his space, briefly, running her hands down his pecs and to his abs. Her fingers danced along the ridges of his muscles, causing shivers to snake down his spine and collect in a warm ball at the base. While one hand continued to trace and stroke his abdomen - relearning his body in a way he craved to reciprocate with her - her other hand slipped between his legs. His body jerked at the feel of her slender fingers curving around to gently squeeze his growing erection. He could hear the sounds of her nails scraping against the rough material of his jeans, but that attention to detail went out the window the moment he felt her thumb beginning to rub at the tip of his cock. Teasing, flickering circles at the tip and at the base of his crown. Tiny movements that made his hips jerk and his breath catch in his throat only to be released in groaning pants.

“Mmm,” she purred, “I can tell.”

Just like that, her hands moved away. His eyes widened briefly, narrowed for even a shorter period, before he licked his lips and set about trying to calm his breathing back down. The teasing wasn't meant to be an  _ offense _ . It just went entirely against every nerve in his body demanding he yank her back and continue what she started. She stepped back as quickly as she’d stepped in, pulling the zipper for the jacket down almost agonizingly slowly. The further down it got, the better view he had of what was underneath - a lacy black strapless bra, cupping her perfect breasts. A tiny, desperate little “ _ fuck” _ passed his lips, and her sultry grin got a little wider and a little more self-satisfied. The jacket was shed, finally, joining the rest of her clothes on the floor with a soft thud, and she began to slowly work her way out of her pants, swaying her hips and shimmying as she worked them down inch by inch. A pair of panties that matched the bra were revealed, teasing the view of her nether region to his hungry eyes, and then she slid the pants off her calves and onto the floor and stepped out of them, back into his space. His fingers began to dig into the sheets, trying to keep  _ some _ level of control over his body. The sensation of his pulse thudding through his cock was more than even evidence that her little show had been more than effective to get him in the mood, but he was acutely aware that a strip tease would only go so far to appease her. Was it time for him to step up and edge her on as much as she'd done to him? As she leaned down a bit, his gaze snagged on her heavy breasts hanging at eye level. It felt like an unspoken welcome for him to close the distance and press his lips to her cool, sweet skin -

“Tell me, Soldat, have you ever had a lap dance?” She asked, hands resting on his thighs. That broke him out a bit from his thoughts, looking up from her chest to her amused smirk. Surely she was aware where his attention had just been, and she was asking him about lap dances? When he didn't give an immediate answer she chuckled and pushed his legs apart so she could straddle one thigh. Once she was settled, she began rolling her hips down and pressing her thigh against his crotch.

“Um,” he managed intelligently, eyes raking over her and hands clenched harder in the sheets in a desperate attempt at keeping them to himself. Likely the only answer she needed, really, but it was as much as he could manage at the moment. He could  _ feel _ her arousal as she ground herself against his thigh. At least he wasn't the only one getting really turned on by all this, and he had to bite back a moan.

“You can touch,” Widowmaker said, something like a laugh in her voice as she watched his strain and turmoil. He wasted no time, hands coming up to squeeze her ass. That beautiful, round, gorgeous ass that felt perfect in his hands. She groaned, grinding into him again, and then rested her hands on his shoulders, lifting herself up so she could move to straddle him completely. Her hands slid down and over his t-shirt, and when she reached the hem, she pulled it up, and he rushed to help her get it off him. It joined the other clothes on the floor, and she leaned forward, pressing her chest against his and rolling, briefly, upwards, then leaned back again, hips swaying and grinding against him. The lace felt soft against his skin, just enough rough grind to it to send shivers down his spine and make his breaths start to come out heavy again. It was incredible, beyond anything he could have even begun to imagine before this moment.

She slid out of his grip with all the grace of the predator she was, but as she did, she slid her hands between his legs, undoing the fly and zipper of his jeans and pulling them off with her as he maneuvered around on the mattress to help her. They were tossed aside, and then she turned around gracefully, running her hands up her body and swaying her hips, drawing his eyes to her perfectly round ass. She slid back, sitting herself in his lap and unabashedly grinding it against the aching bulge in his boxers, moaning absolutely  _ lasciviously  _ as she did. It was obvious she was enjoying this as much as he was. He could feel the cool wetness through his boxers and her panties, and his hips jerked in response, grinding back almost without his control back against her.

She reached back, resting her elbows on his shoulders and her hands behind his head, and leaned into him, back to chest. He squeezed her hips, then traced his hands up and cupped her breasts, giving them a squeeze. She made a pleased noise, pressing into his hands, and he squeezed again, then ran his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them until they were hard peaks under her bra. He pinched through the fabric, and she moaned again, an unabashed noise of want. 

He was aching in his boxers, glad they were the only clothes he still had left - if he was still wearing pants, he would be dying, he was sure. As it was, he got to feel soft, cool skin and elegant lace right against his skin, and it was driving him mad with want. He was fairly certain that was exactly her intention, really, to get him good and worked up so that once they came together he would have no hesitations about fucking her hard and rough and wild. 

She slid out of his lap again, slowly and sensuously sliding off her panties with a graceful sway of her hips. The lacy slip of fabric fell from her fingers, and she leaned over him, pulling off his boxers and leaving him bare. This time, when she moved back into his lap, facing him, she wrapped a hand around his cock, guiding it to her entrance. She was already hot and wet and ready for him, and when she sank down, he sheathed in her fully with ease. 

“My bra, if you would, Soldat?” She asked, a rich, husky purr in his ear. In answer, he leaned in to trail kisses down her neck, hands finding the clasps of the bra with ease. His mouth continued lower, over the bare swell of her breast, and he drew his tongue over the peak of her nipple before drawing it into his mouth. She made a low, pleased noise, hips lifting as she began to ride him. Her pace was languid and slow, and as much as he wanted to pound her senseless after two months apart, he couldn’t deny that the sensuous, slow slide was something utterly  _ magic. _

He gave her nipple one last lick before moving to the other one, and she let out a soft hum and sigh, picking up her pace slightly. Her eagerness fueled him, and he bucked up to meet her, hand slipping between them to tease at her clit. She pressed into it, back arching and one hand moving to run through and then twist in his hair, holding his head against her breast, while the other slung around his shoulders. He bit down, just hard enough to feel, and a loud cry of pleasure fell from her lips. He pulled back, a grin on his face.

“You like that?” He asked. She nodded, a little frantically, bouncing faster on his cock.

“Yes, Daddy, more,  _ s'il vous plaît, _ ” she gasped, squeezing her inner muscles around him and making him groan. God, he loved it when he could get her to beg, even a little.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he growled, and he watched a sensual shiver run through her, and he dipped back down, cupping her breast in his free hand and bringing it back to his mouth. He bit down again, and stroked her clit, and she threw her head back and screamed out her orgasm. It was a victory to get her to be  _ loud,  _ and he loved the sounds she made when she was fully losing herself to pleasure.

“ _ Merci,  _ Daddy, yes,” she gasped, still trembling from the high, and she began to move faster, harder, driving down onto him, and he met her thrust for thrust with equal eagerness. His lips trailed from her breast up her collarbone and to her neck, where he bit in again, at the sensitive junction between neck and shoulder, and she shuddered. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, “you’re so fucking perfect, everything I ever could have wanted.” She whined faintly at the praise, and he kept it up, letting it tumble from his lips like a litany of promises. “So gorgeous, so amazing, do you have any fucking clue what you do to me?”

“I believe I have an idea,” she breathed, voice still a little wrecked from her screaming orgasm. Her hand slid out of his hair to join the other one around his shoulders, and then she raked her nails down his back, making him moan and buck hard up into her. It was a frenzied, desperate thing now, chasing her peak and his, and they moved in heated synch. Two months apart couldn’t undo ten months of learning every bit of each other.

He could feel his orgasm fast approaching, sparks crackling at the base of his spine and balls drawing tight.

“Inside?” He asked, and she nodded.

“Yes, yes,” she gasped, and she slowed her frantic pace to something more measured, a richly sensual roll of her hips that drove him deep into her and made her cry out softly. The change from desperate to sensuous was all it took to send him spilling inside her with a drawn-out moan, and that sent her following him over the edge, clenching and milking his cock for all it was worth. For a moment the whole world was nothing but a white haze of pleasure, and everything was still a little fuzzy when he began to come down. She hadn’t moved out of his lap, but she had shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, arms around his shoulders and head resting comfortably against his chest. He slid one arm around her waist, pulling her close, and she settled with a contented sigh. His other hand went to play briefly with her hair, stroking over the thick twists that made up her new style.

“I, uh, like what you’ve done with your hair,” he said, and she let out a tiny snort.

“I was under the impression you rather liked what I did with my everything, Soldat,” she teased, and he let out a little laugh.

“That too,” he acknowledged. “ _ Je t’amie,  _ you know that, yes?” She lifted her head up and raised an eyebrow.

“Your accent is atrocious,” she said, “but  _ je t'aime aussi  _ nevertheless,  _ mon Soldat.” _

“You’ll just have to help me get better,” he offered, and she hummed briefly, nodding. 

There were footsteps in the hallway, and he tensed, yanking her tight against him. No one was supposed to be down here, no one was  _ ever  _ down here, and his mind instantly began playing through every possible worst-case scenario. They were both naked and barely armed, both their visors were across the room, so they’d be at a disadvantage if --

_ “Dad?”  _ The voice that carried down the hall was most definitely not that of some Talon agent come for Widowmaker, but it might in fact have been worse. She sat back far enough in his lap so he could see the sarcastically incredulous expression on his face, and he shrugged a little helplessly, gesturing for her to be quiet as he fumbled for something near them to cover up with. The bed was unhelpfully bare, and both of their clothes were strewn far too wildly across the room for them to get dressed anything even close to in time to cover up what they were doing.  _ Damn it. _ Maybe if they were lucky, Hana would pass them by, but…

The door pushed open, and there was Hana, staring at her communicator with a slightly odd look on her face. 

“Yo, old man, you said you’d join us for movie night, the hell are you doing down here - oh. My God.” She had finally looked up, and there was a moderately horrified expression on her face. 76 was frozen, like a deer in the headlights. This was...not at all how he’d expected to introduce Widowmaker to the team, to say the least. Ideally, “she’s on our side now” would have come first; “I’ve been sleeping with her for a year” would have come later. Possibly never.

“Hello, Agent Song,” Widowmaker said pleasantly, and Hana made a horrified noise.

“Oh my  _ God, _ ” she said.

“What’s up, Hana, did you find -” Lúcio leaned around the corner, followed by the bright glow of Genji’s visor, because Jack’s life wasn’t difficult enough, apparently. “Holy shit,” Lúcio said, and he sounded somewhere between disturbed and awed, but he turned rapidly away, which was a concession to their privacy that was far too little, too late. 

“Is that  _ Widowmaker?  _ Is  _ that  _ what you’re doing down here? Is that where you disappear to? _ ”  _ Genji asked (of course he’d noticed, 76 thought slightly grumpily), and then he spun around and placed a mechanical hand over his visor, other arm gesticulating dramatically. “Never mind, do not tell me, I do not want to know, this image being permanently seared on my retinas is plenty, I would suggest locking doors in the future but clearly we are well past that helping.”

Widowmaker rested her face back against his neck, and her shoulders began to shake with what he quickly realized was laughter that she was desperately suppressing.

At least  _ someone  _ thought this was funny.

“Holy  _ shit,”  _ Lúcio said again, voice rising about an octave off his normal. 76 huffed, ducking his face to cover his undoubtedly flushed-red cheeks. “How long, man?” He asked.

“...A while,” 76 grumbled, which was only sort of a lie. It  _ had  _ been a while, but that also rather understated it. “You could have  _ called.” _

“We did,” Genji said, hand still over his visor. “You did not answer, so Hana thought we ought to go find you, and she used your communicator’s location to track you here, and now we know far too well why you were not answering your calls.”

Widowmaker gave up suppressing her laughter, and the sound drew his attention. He had absolutely never heard her  _ laugh  _ before; chuckle darkly, or snicker, certainly, but not a real, bright, cheerful  _ laugh _ . If nothing else had been a sign that Widowmaker was free of Talon conditioning, that would be.

He’d thought he couldn’t fall for her any harder; apparently he was wrong, utterly humiliating situation aside. 

Hana, meanwhile, had apparently gotten over her initial shock and was regarding them both with narrowed eyes.

“...I’ll call you  _ Mom  _ when hell freezes over,” she said, and that only made Widowmaker laugh harder.

“ _ Dieu merci,  _ please do not,” she said, between giggles. She sat up and wiped her eyes, where little tears of laughter had formed. She looked  _ happy -  _ really happy, not fucked-out blissful or playfully seductive. That was the best part, he supposed, of having her away from Talon; getting to know  _ her.  _ “Leave us, for a moment, to dress, and then you may have your... _ Team Dad  _ back.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice, and he groaned. 

“That sounds great,” Lúcio said, ushering Hana out of the room. Once they were gone and the door was shut, Widowmaker let out a last, helpless-sounding little giggle, and she slid off his lap. He sat still for a moment, just watching her, and then a grin of his own drew across his face.

“So,” he said, “welcome to Overwatch?” She laughed again, and he would have happily given anything to hear that sound again.

“I already feel at home.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr at [noirsongbird](http://noirsongbird.tumblr.com)!
> 
> French translations:  
> mon Soldat: my Soldier  
> mon amour: my love  
> mon chéri: my darling  
> s'il vous plaît: please  
> Merci: Thank you   
> Je t’amie/je t'aime aussi: I love you/I love you too  
> Dieu merci: Thank God


End file.
